


Wax Over Fire

by Pandir



Category: Better Call Saul (TV)
Genre: (some involve dubious age / underage Lalo), Begging, Corporal Punishment, Face Slapping, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Incestuous desires, Internalized Homophobia, Lalo's got some twisted sexual fantasies, M/M, Slut Shaming, Spanking, pyrophilia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-15
Updated: 2020-11-15
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:28:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27335680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pandir/pseuds/Pandir
Summary: The sound of the bell always brings it back: the heat of the flames licking at his skin, the biting thick smoke that made his eyes water and burned in his lungs.Lalo has always been sentimental when it comes to family.
Relationships: Eduardo "Lalo" Salamanca/Hector Salamanca
Comments: 2
Kudos: 15
Collections: Bad Things Happen





	Wax Over Fire

**Author's Note:**

> For the Bad Things Happen Bingo prompt "backhand slap".
> 
> I've been obsessed with the scene where Lalo reminisced about their fun family bonding in Hotel Tulipan with Hector and Lalo's low, soft voice and his little lip bite are single-handedly responsible for this entire fic.

On his last night in Albuquerque, lying in his own cozy bed again that was much kinder to his back than the prison cot, Lalo has some time to reminiscence – and to finally jerk off in peace. He has no trouble getting off with an audience, but some thoughts are too intimate to share.

And Lalo has always been sentimental when it comes to family.

Funny enough, he barely remembers his own father with much fondness, nor did his father's regular beatings ever really stick with him. What Lalo hasn’t forgotten, however, is the one time _Hector_ showed his brother how to give his cocky, reckless son a proper spanking.

Even years later, whenever Uncle Hector’s hand was on Lalo’s neck to knead it appreciatively and Lalo beamed up at him with pride, Lalo still found himself thinking about it – Hector’s wiry fingers in an iron grip around his neck, pushing him down over Hector’s bony legs, his calloused palm brushing over Lalo’s burning backside, - and Lalo blushed with a sudden, hot rush of excitement.

It didn’t come as much of a surprise to him. Surrounded by men, yet not sure how to express or satisfy his desires, Lalo often found himself dwelling on physical contact, no matter how innocuous. It was probably inevitable that some of it would fester into something more depraved over time. Lalo couldn’t tell how many times he’d come to the memory of Hector patting his ass cheeks, of whimpering at the pain while Hector softly mocked him, before his uncle continued to spank him so hard and mercilessly Lalo hadn’t been able to sit straight for days.

In hindsight, Lalo never quite knew whether he should be glad that Hector had never punished him like that again. Back then, Lalo hadn’t been able to appreciate it at all - he’d been too surprised, too overwhelmed, too busy crying. But later, when he lay awake at night, hidden under his blanket and a hand clasped over his mouth, part of him knew he’d never be able to hide his arousal if he found himself bent over his uncle’s legs again. Not when he could barely stifle his moans at the thought of Hector’s calloused hand against his sore skin, the force of each blow making him press against his uncle’s thigh and the sharp stinging pain fading to a pleasant warmth spreading in its place.

At first, that was all Lalo could think about before he came undone, spilling over his hand. But over the years, Lalo learns to pace himself, to draw it out, and like agave hearts buried in hot sand, his fantasies slowly turned into something rotten and intoxicating. More than anything, he finds himself irresistibly drawn to the forbidden thrill of what might happen if Hector noticed Lalo’s depravity.

With guilty glee, Lalo thinks of his uncle egging him on until he was begging, pleading, _-please no more, tío, I’m so sore, just your hand, please_ -, and never giving him release. Of Hector punishing him when Lalo came against his uncle’s thigh, soiling his pants. Lalo can imagine it so clearly – kneeling between his uncle’s legs, with his ass still smarting and tears still stinging in his eyes, and Hector grabbing his hair to make him suck his cock. But he’d need no force - Lalo knows he would make up for his mistakes so perfectly. He’d wet his lips and kiss the tip of his uncle’s cock, he’d drag his tongue along the length, open-mouthed and eager, before wrapping his warm lips around it, swallowing it whole with ease. Hector’s hand would be on the back of his head, mercilessly holding him in place, and god, how Lalo would try his best not to choke on his uncle's cock when he fucked his throat like none of the Salamanca’s enforcers, none of the young men he paid for, would ever dare to--

It's not that the climax itself that is different when Lalo indulges in these fantasies, but the way it leaves him after the initial rush, so pliant, light-headed, and warm. In its aftermath, when his pulse is still thick and thrumming in his veins with something electrifying, something frail and fleeting, Lalo is so overwhelmed by it, so choked up by an emotion he cannot quite place, he feels like he might burst.

*

Tonight, as Lalo lies sprawled out in the bedsheets in the dim light of the streetlights falling through the half-opened curtains, his head resting on the soft pillow and the blanket lazily kicked aside, Lalo dwells on a different memory.

It has been on his mind ever since he arrived in Albuquerque. The sound of the bell always brings it back: the heat of the flames licking at his skin, the biting thick smoke that made his eyes water and burned in his lungs.

Lalo has spent so many nights running his finger over the metal engravings, his thoughts filled with fire crackling, consuming expensive books with their now blackened spines, and dark smoke gathering under the high wooden ceiling. And always, inevitably, they drift to Hector grinning at him with sardonic triumph, bent over the hotel proprietor’s wife as Lalo held her arms down, her fingernails digging into his wrists so deep they drew blood.

Funny how she cried the entire time through, when Lalo had to bite his lip at the thought of Hector’s so intimately familiar hands forcing his legs apart. 

Maybe Lalo is in a particularly nostalgic mood because he has to say goodbye tomorrow. Maybe it’s the slight twinge of guilt he tries not to dwell on that accompanies the thought of leaving his uncle behind. Either way, when Lalo closes his eyes with a low sigh, pushing his briefs down to wrap his warm hand slick with lube around his already half-hard cock, he allows himself to indulge in the thought of confessing. A grin tugs at the corners of Lalo’s mouth at the audacity of the idea alone. It’s outrageous, of course, unthinkable, but that’s what draws Lalo to it like a moth to the open flame. He bites his lip as he leisurely strokes himself with slow, languid movements, a low hum in the back of his throat as he rolls his hips to meet the friction.

Lalo’s always had a vivid imagination, but this he can picture so perfectly, he really has to pace himself not to spoil it all too soon.

"I’ve been thinking about it again, the smell of burned leather and horse-hair stuffing. And you know what I always think of then?"

He’s kneeling between his uncle’s legs in a quiet corner of the nursing home. His head is resting against Hector’s thigh as he looks up to him to meet his uncle’s quiet, knowing gaze. Like a young boy confessing to his first crush, Lalo carefully takes his uncle’s cold hand in his before he continues. Then, in a low, soft voice, he finally tells his uncle how he will always remember him.  
  
Memories tends to blur together, and in his mind, the flames are already blackening the spines of the books scattered on the floor and licking at the antique wooden shelves, as Hector looms over him, his calloused hands warm on Lalo’s thighs. With deliberate, irresistible force, he spreads them and pushes in, slow but relentless. Lalo gasps at the intrusion. Warm air fills his lungs, and his thoughts start to feel hazy around the edges, but he welcomes the feeling of being spread, of being full. An impatient noise, almost a whine, forms in his throat as he bucks his hips to meet Hector’s thrusts.

Without warning, the back of Hector's hand connects with the side of his face with such force Lalo’s head hits the wooden floor with a dull thud. The blow connects so suddenly, so unexpectedly, the surprise makes Lalo clench around Hector’s cock before the pain even fully registers. Lalo has barely opened his mouth to speak when his uncle’s hand comes down again - once, twice, thrice, until Lalo’s cheeks are burning and his jaw is aching, the sharp pain overriding the throbbing in the back of his skull.

It takes him a moment to adjust, to let the pain wash over him. His temple pressed to the wooden floorboards, Lalo tongues at his split bottom lip. His eyes are fixed on the smoldering fire eating through the thick old carpet in front of the bookshelves. Under the heat of the fire, the soreness in his cheek flares up like glowing embers.

“Look at me, boy”, he hears Hector’s voice above him, impatient and commanding.

With a pained groan, Lalo turns his head to look up at his uncle. Hector looms above him, a dark silhouette in front of the flames, imperious and his lip curled with disgust. “You call yourself a Salamanca”, he snarls, his words barely distinguishable from the snapping sounds of heat consuming the wooden beams and shelves. “But you let yourself get fucked like this, like a mindless, filthy animal.”

Hector’s fingers dig in his hair to pull his head back. Lalo moans at the pain, at the friction of the cock shifting inside him. All he knows is that he’s never been this hard in his entire life, but he has no words to ask for anything, not when the lack of oxygen is making him this light-headed. Instead, Lalo wrap his legs around his uncle’s hips to pull him in and rolls his hips to openly beg for more.

“So that’s what you are, eh?” There’s a cruel smile on Hector’s lips as he pushes Lalo’s thighs back, folding them up against Lalo’s ribs, and Lalo holds his breath, waiting, anticipating. He believes to hear fondness in Hector’s low, mocking voice when he bends over him, holding Lalo’s trembling legs in a vice grip. “Mi pequeña puta.”

Hector’s wiry fingers are wrapped around Lalo’s throat while he fucks him in a merciless rhythm. Lalo’s choked moans turn into voiceless gasps as his breath is pushed out of his lungs, his mouth wide open and Hector's hands painfully tight against his larynx, but he doesn’t struggle. He clings to Hector’s shoulders, his legs wrapped tightly around Hector’s hips, holding on for bare life. As the thick smoke burning in his lungs suffocates his every thought, he himself becomes pliant beneath his uncle’s hands like wax over fire.

“And that’s what I am”, Lalo would tell his uncle as he wets his lips, his voice soft and earnest, “all dizzy and light-headed, barely catching my breath – and drooling and coughing probably, a complete mess.” He pulls a face, laughing softly at himself. “But you fuck me, slowly now, make me take it all. And it feels so good, I’m just begging for it, more, more—until I almost pass out. But you’ll pull me up", Lalo's voice is thick with emotion at the thought of it. Of Hector's hand on the back of his head to hold him steady, of his wiry fingers patting his cheek.   
  
Lalo bows his head to kiss them, softly, reverently.

"And I, I’ll suck you off so good, until my throat is raw”, he murmurs against the calloused knuckles. “Thinking of nothing but the house collapsing around us, the heat of the flames and your hands around my neck."

*

In his quiet, cozy room, Lalo sucks on his fingers as he fucks into his warm, slick hand, riding out his high. All pliant and spent, he lets his arms drop to his sides and allows the sleepy haze of his afterglow to envelop him.

As he closes his eyes, Lalo sees his uncle’s face, now lined with hardships and unmoving, only his eyes betraying his fondness.

And with a mischievous smile, like a boy who stole a piece of candy confessing to his crimes, he says, "I love you, tío."

*

Of course, Lalo says none of that when he tells his uncle goodbye the next day. But when he kisses Hector’s forehead, softly, reverently, he still says it all. 

"La familia es todo.”

It breaks his heart to leave.


End file.
